A park.
Sand pits. Wood. Swings. Slides.
Things that squeak. Things that creak. Things that whish the air.
Giggles. Squeals. The yelling aloud. Feet pounding about.
I sit in the warmth of the sun. On a bench. Watching them.
The kids are there.
She runs and he follows as if towed along by some ribbon that binds the two together. A ribbon of love between brother and sister. A ribbon of faith that no matter how far it is stretched, each knows that a simple tug will bring the other running in rescue.
Her black hair, short and black like her mother’s, flies in the wind as she runs about. From toy to toy. From gothic princess in her castle tower, to a pirate maid held captive on a ship. She laughs. She giggles. She sticks her tongue out though the spot where front teeth have not yet replaced their baby counterparts. And she waves at me.
Her younger brother, by a few years, runs rampant through the play area. Occasionally saving his helpless sister, and just as often causing her the distress that only he can manage. He calls aloud for everyone to watch as he bravely faces the rugged challenges of tires and planks. He falls, looks to see if anyone noticed, stands, brushing the knees of his pants and runs off in pursuit of unconquered territory. Tears saved for when the sympathy would be better used for a young boy’s advantage.
He runs up, breathless, flushed with color, his breath ragged with coughing but is determined to continue on the path of childhood destruction. His short hair wet with perspiration. He grabs my hand. Pulling toward the tire swing. Before I take more that a few steps, she is there tugging my other hand. Begging, asking, telling and then ordering me to push them.
Giggling, laughing, wiggling little bodies, I lift and deposit in the swing. Their legs dangle down through the center of the tire. Gently, one kicks at the other. Together they call for me to push them. And as I do, they yell, scream and call for more and higher. And they laugh.
The sun gets a little warmer. The sky a little bluer. My life a little fuller.
They call for me.
Royce E Tuck